The Moment It Breaks
by Penn Flinn
Summary: In another circumstance, Khan does not relent in his torment of one James Kirk. And in that circumstance, James Kirk is not sure he can make peace with giving his life for his ship. Jim/Spock friendship (or pre-slash, if you read it that way). Extended scene from ST:ID, slight AU. Jim whump. Major spoilers, rated T for brief language and violence. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello there! Haven't written anything here in a while, and I figured it was time to do some writing again! This is my first Star Trek fic and my first fic with major whump. I'm a little nervous on both accounts, especially since I am a new Trekkie. I absolutely love the new movies, and now I'm making my way through TOS. I'm obsessed! But that also means I don't know everything about the Trek universe, so forgive me if anything is a little off. **

**Anyway, enough introduction. I imagine this will have about 6 chapters, covering the time from Khan taking over the Vengeance to Kirk going into the Enterprise core. It's a bit of a deviation from the movie, but it'll tie in. I promise. Happy reading!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Trek.**

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Jim should have seen it coming the second the lanky bastard had agreed to be taken into custody.

What was he thinking, allowing Khan free reign when it was _obvious_ that he'd had something up his sleeve? Jim allowed himself one precious moment to curse his fate before he was pulled up from the ground by his collar. So much for trust.

"What do you want?" he asked gruffly, stumbling forward from the superhuman force behind him. The grip on his collar was cold, unrelenting, the man delivering it stronger than anyone Jim had ever come into contact with.

"I think it's about time we had a little chat with your crew." Even without seeing it, Jim could hear the sick amusement in Khan's voice. "Don't you?"

"Actually, I'll take a rain check on that offer, if it's all the same to you," Jim said coldly.

The grip tightened. "Play nicely, now, Captain, and we won't have any trouble."

Jim opened his mouth to respond, but before he could get a word out, a channel opened on one of the bridge's screens. The image blinked once, twice, then came into focus. Materializing on the screen, straight-backed and attentive, all pointy ears and arched eyebrows, was none other than Spock. It was pointless to resist now, but Jim still struggled against Khan's pressure, unwilling to face his crew like this.

"Go on, Captain," Khan said quietly.

Finally Jim was forced into Spock's line of sight. There was a moment of stillness, of quiet anticipation. _I'm sorry_, Jim tried to convey. _I'm sorry for this. This is my fault._

The realization hit Spock all at once. His eyes betrayed him; in a split second, the understanding and the fear came to light and disappeared under the mask just as quickly. Jim's stomach dropped.

"I'm going to make this very simple for you—" Khan began behind Jim.

Spock interjected. "Captain!"

"Your crew for my crew," Khan continued silkily.

Jim knew it was coming, but something inside him snapped at those words. _I will not be a pawn._

"You betrayed us." Spock's voice cut through his reverie, strengthened him.

"Oh, you are smart, Mr. Spock," Khan said, but Jim was already one step ahead. He whipped his head up toward the monitor fiercely.

"Spock, don't—"

Pain blossomed on the back of his skull and he crumpled from the impact, landing in a heap on the floor of the Vengeance. He struggled to right himself through the buzzing in his ears, but before he could rise completely, Khan gave him a closing kick to the stomach. Jim doubled over again, wheezing.

"Mr. Spock, give me my crew," he vaguely heard Khan say.

Hesitation from Spock. Good, distrust. Caution. Jim knew he had chosen his First Officer wisely. "What will you do when you get them?"

"Continuing the work we were doing before we were banished."

"Which, as I understand it, involves the mass genocide of any being you find to be less than superior," Spock countered.

As the Vulcan's voice echoed throughout the bridge, Jim pulled himself up onto his elbows. He blinked a few times, a headache already building, and looked around. Admiral Marcus lay dead in the corner. Carol clutched her broken leg, crying quietly. Scotty was unconscious on the ground.

_What would you do for your family?_

He thought of the Enterprise, the only family he'd ever really known. The Vengeance was powerful, and Khan was cunning. Jim's ship didn't stand a chance.

Whatever Khan wanted, it was imperative that it didn't fall into his hands.

An earlier conversation, one that seemed so distant now, drifted back.

_"What would Spock do? If it was me?"_

_ "He'd let you die."_

Well, he would have to hold Spock to that.

With stunning clarity, he knew what he had to do, and the thought of dying for his ship seemed so right.

"Shall I destroy you, Mr. Spock?" Khan asked. "Or will you give me what I want?"

Now was as good a time as ever to die.

With a feral yell, Jim threw himself at Khan.

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**Reviews are always appreciated! Let me know if you like what you see and want more, or what I can do to improve! Again, thanks for reading!**

**-Penn**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi again! Wow, thank you for the overwhelmingly positive response on my first chapter! I'm just finishing up writing the last few chapters of this story, so I think I'll stick to a schedule of posting a new chapter every day and a half or so. Sound good?**

**This is a relatively short chapter, but the action is picking up! Be prepared for a little whump this time (and a lot next time...).**

* * *

Within a second, Jim was flat on the floor again, staring up at the ceiling and wheezing.

"What did we discuss about playing nicely?" Khan said, tugging down the sleeves of his uniform where Kirk had attacked him. Jim simply sucked in air in response. As if satisfied, Khan turned his attention back to a terse Spock. "As I was saying…"

But Jim wasn't through. Every muscle in his body protested, but he pushed himself off of the ground once more and flung himself in Khan's direction. Instantly Spock's expression changed, and Khan whipped around before Jim had made it halfway across the floor. The super-being's arm caught him this time in the cheek, and his head snapped to the side. Lights burst in front of his eyes. He hadn't even reached the floor when Khan grasped him by the hair, tossing him back into a console.

"Then again, why waste valuable time negotiating when I could simply demonstrate my resolve?" Khan said. His voice was collected, as usual, but the threat sent a chill trickling down Jim's spine. "Your precious Captain seems more than willing to volunteer."

Spock's cry of "Jim!" was lost as Khan advanced. Jim twisted to face the terrorist, readying himself with fists raised. Khan smiled.

Then he struck.

This time, Jim was expecting it. He lunged to the side, and Khan's fist met air. _That's it, Jim_. A punch, connecting with Khan's cheekbone with a dull clap. Elbow to Khan's chest. Raise to defense.

Khan had caught on, and with minimal effort he shoved Jim back to the console. But Jim's senses were now sharpened, whetted with the adrenaline of a good fight. As Khan's fist came down on a collision course with his face, Jim rolled to the side. The man's punch connected not with flesh this time, but with the unyielding metal of the console, and a resounding crack sounded through the bridge. Khan roared, and Jim knew he was in trouble.

Fighting to get better ground, Jim ducked around the console and up to a higher level of the bridge. He allowed his eyes to flick briefly up to Spock. The Vulcan's control was slipping, it was obvious. He was speaking in earnest—if history was any indication, he was probably reprimanding Jim—but the adrenaline rush blocked out all sound. A focused buzzing, a wave of white noise, submerged Jim. On second thought, maybe that was the probable-concussion speaking.

Then his attention was back to Khan. All amusement, all restraint, was gone from the other man's eyes. Now he was a predator, nothing more. A lion stalking a lamb. If Jim had been in full control of his wits, the sight might have scared him. But he had made his decision.

Jim crouched, ready.

"Afraid, Captain?" Khan said. "Afraid of death?" He approached slowly, eyes calculating. One eyebrow lifted lazily. "Afraid your death won't mean anything? Because I assure you, Captain, I will destroy your crew, whether you live or die."

"Not if I stop you," Jim said. He shifted his weight.

Khan let out a puff of air, as if chuckling, but no smile was in his eyes. "Now, Jim. That is just childish."

Then he pounced. Jim was ready. He dodged right, bringing his elbow down again in the man's side, spinning away. Khan was back in a second, whirling to meet him. Jim ducked once, twice. The lights swayed dizzyingly around him. By the third swing, Khan's punches rang true. Jim stumbled back, determined not to fall this time. He lurched again at Khan, but it was clear the terrorist had the upper hand. One hit to the chest, one to the gut, and Jim was hunched over a console once more.

"Now," Khan said, speaking to Spock but eyes focused on Jim, "let's see how long it takes our dear Captain to break."

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**Thanks again for reading! If you could take a little time to pop by the review button, that would be wonderful-tell me what you liked, what you didn't like, what your favorite kind of cookie is. I'm not picky. I respond to all reviews personally, if that helps! :] Until next time!**

**-Penn**


	3. Chapter 3

**What's up? Thank you guys for the AWESOME reviews! You really do make my day with such nice comments, and I can hardly stop myself from posting the whole story at once :] Speaking of which, I'm almost done writing it, and I actually like the direction it went. I'm trying to take into consideration that you want longer chapters, too; not sure why, but for some reason I just subconsciously write shorter chapters for fanfiction. Ah, well.**

**Here's chapter three! Lots of whump ahead. Hope you guys like it!**

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Whenever he was in bar fight, or whenever he would see one, Jim always knew when a winner had been decided. It wasn't always obvious, and it wasn't always at the final hit. Sometimes it was long before; but it was always a defining moment, one singular strike or glance. The moment the loser's assets ran out and his chances came up dry. That moment, that snap, was a predictor of outcome far beyond either opponent's abilities. He'd felt that moment when Spock attacked him on the Enterprise bridge, and he'd seen it lingering in Spock's eyes for a split second after he'd been beamed back from the volcano.

As Jim leaned against the console of the Vengeance, struggling to breathe, watching Khan approach through a hazy reality, he knew the winner had been decided.

"How long do _you_ think it will take, Captain?" Khan said, advancing slowly on a thoroughly winded Jim. "A broken nose?" Swift as lightning, he had bridged the distance between them and landed a strike on Jim's face. Jim's head whipped to the side, but before he could recover Khan struck again. Warm blood flowed onto Jim's lips and into his mouth, and he gripped the console tightly.

Not broken—he'd know a broken nose anywhere. Not broken yet, at least.

"Perhaps the legs, like Ms. Marcus."

Khan grabbed Jim by the hair again, then pushed him away and kicked at his legs. Jim crumpled, falling sideways, and his face hit the edge of a step. A new, stinging wound opened on his cheek, and for the umpteenth time Jim felt his world go fuzzy. He was definitely going to have a concussion after this.

Again, legs, not broken.

"What else should I do to him, Mr. Spock? Perhaps break his fingers one by one?" Jim felt the hand at his hair again, dragging him up agonizingly, then tossing him bodily to the side as if he weighed nothing at all. "Crush in his skull?" He was now hovering over Jim, a tall, dark menace, eyes framed in shadows.

All at once, a primal instinct clawed up inside of Jim, threatening to break free, willing him to _survive_.

_Don't want to die like this_.

Jim shoved the instinct away, willing it to leave, but simultaneously he felt another rush of adrenaline. With a strangled yell, he pushed himself up—when did it get so hard to move?—and rammed his body into Khan's legs. Instead of buckling under the assault, Khan simply kicked him away. Then, firmly, deliberately, stomped down on Kirk's exposed chest.

_Snap_.

A strangled cry tore unwittingly from Jim's throat.

Like he'd thought, he knew a broken bone when he felt one. And his rib was definitely broken.

"Or maybe a target closer to the Captain's heart?" Khan said mockingly. "After all, that _is_ his most valuable asset, isn't it? His heart?"

Another stomp. Another snap.

"Is this what you wanted, Mr. Kirk?"

Kick. Snap.

"To die here? To be broken so easily, like a toy."

Kick.

Someone was screaming. "Stop! Please!" It was Carol, in the corner. And Scotty.

But who else?

Kick. Snap.

It was himself, he realized. The choked bursts of yelling tore through him, pain blossoming through his torso with every kick.

"How long will it take Captain James T. Kirk to break?"

Then a foot, resting on his chest, pressure increasing by the second. He felt the broken bones inside his chest protest. A strained squealing, crunching noise filled his ears, like a piece of plywood being bent too far. His world was consumed by colors, by sparkling pain, the persistent _agony agony agony_ and screaming and the constant thought _I don't want this, please, not this, make it stop, I don't want to die—_

And then the foot was gone. Jim let out another long, choked whimper, his world swirling at an unreachable pace, refusing to settle. He kept his eyes fixed on the bland ceiling, trying to breathe but swathed in a fiery new batch of pain each time he tried.

"…the torpedoes are yours."

Spock's voice drifted disjointedly down to Kirk. He sucked in another breath and instantly regretted it.

"Thank you, Mr. Spock."

"I have fulfilled your terms. Now fulfill mine."

In a dim focus, Jim realized that Khan was close again, looking down at Jim as if he were a smudge of dirt on the floor. His head cocked to the side slightly. "Well Kirk, it seems apt to return you to your crew." After studying the motionless Jim for a few moments, Khan retreated to the captain's chair. "After all, no ship should go down without her captain."

Suddenly there was Scotty at his side, hands on his shoulders, dragging him upward. Jim cried out in protest, and the other man made a distressed squeak. "Sorry, Jim, but we've got to get out of here."

"Righ' Scotty," Jim mumbled. He was vaguely aware of a flickering world, the insides of the Vengeance spinning, Scotty's face.

Then the world turned gold, and they were back on the Enterprise.

* * *

**Eek, sorry, Jim. I've never written anything like that before.**

**Thanks so much for reading! As always, let me know how I did! I absolutely love reading your comments!**

**Till next time,**

**-Penn**


	4. Chapter 4

**Y'all are awesome, you know that? Because I love you guys and your kind reviews, here's the next chapter a little early. As promised, it's a bit longer this time around! Also, Bones and Spock! That's worth it, right?**

**Enjoy!**

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"Jim—"

"'m fine, Scotty." But it was obviously a lie. Jim closed his eyes tightly, arm wrapped protectively around his ribs, hunched over.

"We've got to get you to Doctor McCoy."

Jim gave a strained smile. "If I know Bones, he's already on his way."

The transporter room was awash with activity, lights flashing irregularly and people shouting. Jim screwed up his eyes against the noise. All he wanted to do in that moment was lie down, give in to the shakiness of his legs, but there was work to be done.

The doors to the transporter work burst open, and, sure enough, in ran Bones and Spock. Scotty shifted in relief, awkwardly supporting both Jim and Carol.

"Doctor McCoy, sir," Scotty said. "We need—"

"Yeah, yeah, I saw it," Bones said, rushing over to relieve Scotty of Jim.

"I'm fine," Jim protested lamely, though he sagged as Bones helped him down the steps. "I can walk."

"Like hell you can," Bones said. "Shut up, Jim, and do as you're told for once."

Somehow they managed to make it outside of the transporter room, where two stretchers were waiting.

"Don't you think this is a bit of overkill?" Jim asked, but he couldn't help the yelp of pain as he was maneuvered onto his back. Bones gave him a pointed look.

"What's overkill is your sense of pride," the doctor said gruffly. "You couldn't just let Spock and that maniac negotiate, could you?"

"Couldn't let him get what he wanted, could I?" Jim countered. "If there was any chance of stopping him…"

He scrunched up his face as Bones poked and prodded him, searching for injuries as they moved down the hallway. The lights amplified Jim's headache once more, and black spots edged his vision.

Bones' face softened. "You look like hell, Jim. That guy would've killed you. Do you realize how much you scared us back there? Me, the bridge, even Spock, and he's a…"

Jim didn't hear the rest of the sentence. Bone's words trailed away, and Jim gave into the welcoming darkness that beckoned him.

* * *

It was the sharp stinging in his ribs that drew him back out of the darkness again.

"That was fast."

Jim looked up to see Bones' face, deep in concentration as he finished wrapping Jim's torso.

"How long?" Jim asked.

"About three minutes," Bones said. He snipped off the rest of the bandage and turned back to his side table. "Good thing, too. Don't want you sleeping too much on that concussion." He motioned vaguely in Jim's direction. "You've got extensive bruising already beginning, but other than your ribs, it looks like you got off lucky."

_Lucky_. Jim didn't feel lucky as he struggled to his elbows. Every inch of his body was sore, and though his ribs felt moderately better under the wrapping, every breath still sent shooting pains through his chest.

Bones gave him a look. "I gave you a hypo for some of the pain. Stay here; I need to go to Carol." Then, swallowing heavily, he looked up from Jim to a point across the room. "You should return to the bridge, Spock. We're gonna need you real quick."

As Bones exited, Jim whipped his head to the side, a move he sorely regretted. Indeed, the Vulcan was standing a few feet from Jim's cot, hands clasped behind his back.

"Well, you've been awfully quiet, Mr. Spock," Jim said.

"As Doctor McCoy had full control of the situation, there was no immediate need for my input," Spock said matter-of-factly.

"Then why did you come down at all?" Jim joked.

"It was…simply in my interest to ensure that you received the necessary medical attention."

All at once he looked uncomfortable standing there, awkward, and Jim softened. "It's alright to be scared, Spock."

"To the contrary," Spock said. "I should have retained more control over my emotions." He paused. "You behaved…admirably, Jim. To do what you thought necessary for the ship, with no regard for the consequences involved—"

"Wasn't very logical, was it, Spock?" Jim teased.

The Vulcan raised his eyebrows, but there was no reprimand in his eyes. "No, it was not, Captain, but I have found that occasionally, in humans, that the value of certain actions outweighs logic."

They remained in silence for a few seconds longer, and Jim reclined back onto the cot. With painful clarity, his fight with Khan played again and again in his mind, and now with it came his silent mantra: _I don't want to die. I don't want to die. Please. _The Vulcan thought he was brave?

"Spock." Shame bubbled forth, overwhelming him. His voice cracked, and he swallowed thickly. _I don't want to die_. "I broke."

Pause. Then: "I do not take your meaning, Captain."

_I don't want to die_. "I thought…I thought I could be some big hero. I thought I would do anything for the ship, for my crew. I was sure I would do anything for my family, but…at the end, I didn't want to die. I didn't care about anything else, I just knew that I didn't want to die. Not for anything." He swallowed again, focusing all of his energy on the plain white ceiling. "I was terrified."

"It is only natural—"

"The thing is, Spock," Jim continued, voice shaking, "I don't think I could. My dad died so willingly. But I don't know how…how I'm supposed to do better." He was harshly aware of Spock's eyes fixed on him. He wanted to crawl away, hide in a dark corner. Khan's words sidled back to him: _Afraid your death won't mean anything?_ "There was a moment in there when I broke, where I became a…coward. I can't do this, Spock. How can I be Captain if I can't die for my ship?"

Spock considered this a moment longer, the silence agonizingly taut. Jim was about to tell him to forget it, to pretend the conversation never happened, to let Jim Kirk slink away into the recesses of failed opportunity, but the Vulcan spoke first.

His voice was now perfectly leveled, but soft. "To repeat a phrase you said yourself, Captain—it is perfectly acceptable, for a human such as yourself, to experience fear in the face of danger."

"I don't think I said it quite like that," Jim joked. However, the words shook him.

All at once, the room trembled violently, and Spock's head snapped up.

"Spock?" Jim asked suspiciously. "Why did Bones say they would need you up on the bridge?"

The Vulcan straightened to attention. "Apologies, Captain, I must return to my post."

He stepped smartly to the door, and the room shivered again. "Spock!" Jim said irritably. "What's going on?"

Spock inclined his head ever so slightly. "We used the torpedoes against Khan, Captain. As predicted, our ship is now under attack. Please, allow me to take control of the situation. You require rest."

"I—"

"Jim, please do not place me in that situation again," Spock said gently. His composure was quickly fracturing, Jim could see now. "Do not force me to be helpless as you suffer."

Jim studied Spock's face, saw now how the Vulcan was clinging to scraps of control that were quickly slipping away. The sight subdued him more than he would like to admit.

He swallowed. "I'll try not to, Spock."

The Vulcan looked at him carefully for a few more seconds, a war waging behind his usually-controlled eyes. Then, with a sharp nod, he straightened once more. "Excuse me, Captain."

He left quickly, leaving Jim entangled in a whirl of thought and sound.

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**Thanks for reading! Leave a comment, if you will, and let me know how I'm doing! Up next: what will Jim do as the Enterprise plunges to Earth?**

**Also, question-do you, uh, like when I respond to reviews? I like saying thanks, but I've also never had a story of this length before, with so many reviews (and a lot of the same faces). I don't want to bother you with replies if they're annoying :]**

**Until next time,**

**-Penn**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey guys! Sorry for the little extended wait on this one-I just started a new job and life has been crazy! But, have no fear, Chapter Five is ready! What, you ask, will Jim do?**

**Shall we begin?**

* * *

Everything was chaos. Even from his cot, Jim could hear the noise in the hallways beyond and feel the ship rock under heavy fire. People were screaming, lights were flickering, the world roared.

Jim closed his eyes.

* * *

_"You can settle for a less than ordinary life, or do you feel like you were meant for something better? Something special? Enlist in Starfleet."_

_I can't._

_"If you're half the man your father was, Jim, Starfleet could use you. You could be an officer in four years. You could have your own ship in eight. You understand what the Federation is, don't you? It's important. It's a peacekeeping and humanitarian armada..."_

_It's alright to be scared._

_"Your father was captain of a Starship for 12 minutes. He saved 800 lives, including your mother's and yours. I dare you to do better."_

_I dare you._

He couldn't do it; he couldn't _die_ for his ship. He'd proved that to himself already. Under pressure, he'd snapped.

_I dare you._

Everything in his head told him he'd failed. His injuries, the memories of pleading for mercy, the suffocating stench of fear: all spoke of failure.

But there was a part of him, somewhere, deep in his chest, that heard the sounds of the dying Enterprise and stirred in response.

* * *

Jim opened his eyes again, and the squealing metal around him urged him to his feet. He stood, gingerly, for a moment, testing out his mobility with his new broken ribs and bandages.

_Pain: bad. But better. Manageable._

Bones sure knew his stuff.

Satisfied that he could at least walk without collapsing again—that was embarrassing enough the first time, no need to repeat it—Jim pulled on his shirt, then made his way out the door and into the hallway beyond.

He had expected it, but the sight still chilled him. Crew members ran past in a constant stream, a continuous spectrum of blue, red and gold. They ran with an urgency far beyond normal human capacity. This urgency was born from the whip-lash of death at their heels, a ticking clock that rang through the hollow spaces of uncertainty. As the ship buckled and tilted around him, Jim wondered how many had been lost already.

As he looked around, head whirling at the activity, one red form broke away from the commotion.

"Jim?"

"Scotty!" Jim said, giving the man a lopsided half-smile. "Glad you dropped by."

"Actually, sir," Scotty said breathlessly, "I'm on my way down to engineering. The ship—it's failing."

Jim's smile fell. "That bad?"

Scotty nodded apologetically. "I'm 'fraid so, Jim. Got to get down there fast. How are you holding up?"

"Fine," Jim said. He stepped the rest of the way out of the doorway, and the doors slid closed with a hiss. "I'm coming with you. Show me what to do; maybe I can help."

The other man shot him an apprehensive look. "Jim, I don't think—"

"There's no time to waste, Mr. Scott," Jim said, straightening as much as he could. "Lead the way."

That was easier said than done, he soon realized. With the violent churning of the ship, the ground was never stable for more than a few seconds. Thanks to the hypo Bones had given him, Jim could at least jog, but still he doubted that he was fast enough for Scotty's liking.

"What's happening?" he shouted after he and the other man were thrown into a wall due to a particularly violent lurch.

Scotty shot him a look, desperation deep in his eyes. "We're falling. The ship is falling. Ship gravity is out of whack."

Nausea gripped Jim, along with a deep-set, numbing dread. "We'd better move faster, then."

They took off once more down the hallways, each step more precarious than the next, but almost immediately Jim felt a distinct sense of vertigo, and the world spun around him.

"Keep going!" Scotty shouted.

People began dropping, falling, in the corridors ahead of them, and it was then that Jim realized exactly what was happening. The ship was rolling onto its side. He kept running, and soon the floor became the walls, and he and Scotty leapt over doors and communicators that had once been beside them. Screams echoed through the hallways.

They approached an adjoining hallway, and Jim fought to make his voice heard over the commotion. "We're going to have to jump!"

"What?" Scotty barely turned his head.

"Jump!" Jim yelled. He put on a burst of speed, planted his feet, and leapt. The space that had once been a hallway was now an abyss below him, a never-ending tunnel spiraling down. He landed on the other side of the gap with a hard thud, the shocks reverberating through his body and forcing him to crouch in pain. Scotty landed beside him moments later and skidded to a halt.

"Jim?" he asked.

Jim sucked in a few harsh breaths and closed his eyes. _Come on, Jim_. He kept his arms wrapped protectively around his chest for a few moments longer before standing carefully.

"You shouldn't be here, Jim, with everything that happened on that ship—"

"I've got to be here, Scotty," Jim said, rubbing his sweating palms onto his uniform. "It's my ship, isn't it?"

Scotty considered this a moment longer, clearly apprehensive, then nodded.

The ship quaked around them as they ran.

When they finally made it down to engineering, the continuous assault of red lights sank fear deeper into Jim's stomach. He paused, frozen at the scene of destruction, while Scotty rattled off some numbers and consulted some passing crew members.

"…manual realign…get to the warp core…"

All Jim saw was his father in the ruin.

"Jim?"

He blinked, and his father was gone. "Yeah. Let's go."

He followed Scotty down a few more passages, stopping only once more to take in aching breaths as the ship lurched. This part of the ship, now more closed off, was deserted. Jim glanced around as Scotty fiddled with some controls. Among the hanging wires and random sparks, a glass door clearly marked "radioactive" was pressed into the opposite wall. Random tools and debris were scattered across the floor.

Jim pulled his eyes away as Scotty took a step back from his work. The other man paused, his face a mask awash with shock, before running his hand through his hair and turning to Jim. The look in his eyes froze the Captain where he stood.

"The ship's gone, Captain. There's nothing we can do; she's dead."

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**Thanks for the awesome reviews, guys! Keep them coming-it gives me so much confidence in the last stages of writing this story to hear how it makes you respond. This story just hit 50 reviews, which floors me. It was a personal goal of mine, and this is the first time I've ever had so much response! So thank you thank you thank you!**

**Next time-Jim's ultimate decision. All bets are off.**

**Until then,**

**-Penn**


	6. Chapter 6

**Whew, made it through that cliffhanger!**

**Thanks for the great response once again, guys. I wish I could give chocolate to all of you. Or something.**

**Without further ado, here's chapter six. This one's gonna hurt. It certainly hurt to write it.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

"She's dead."

A few years ago, those words might have meant nothing to Jim. A ship was a ship, after all. A hunk of metal, technically speaking. Replaceable. Not like a human life.

However, now he knew better. Now he knew what the Enterprise really was, and he wasn't willing to accept giving her up. He wouldn't lose his family, everything that had made him who he was. There _had _to be another alternative.

He wouldn't let her die.

Legs moving automatically, Jim crossed to the glass door and began pressing buttons.

"What d'you think you're doin'?" Scotty bellowed behind him.

"The warp core can be realigned if someone goes in there—"

"That's radioactive in there," Scotty insisted. "We'd be dead before we made the climb."

The apology in his tone stopped Jim in his tracks. It was a note of defeat, the end of a struggle that was simply too large to overcome. It was an unspoken slump of the shoulders, the _we did the best we could, but it's over_.

It was the unspoken _nobody blames you, Jim_.

And he was right. Nobody would blame Jim for not entering that chamber, not sacrificing himself for a slim chance of success. At the end of the day, when the ship was buried in the ocean and _dead_, nobody would even know that he'd had the chance to risk his life. Nobody would blame him.

Because waiting past that door was death, Jim was beyond certain. Past that door, further, was painful death. It was a million pricks of light and heat, waiting to burn him alive and break down every one of his cells.

Through it all, there was Khan's voice, and the snapping of ribs, and the agony, and the silent pleading that he wouldn't have to die. _Don't let me die_. The smell of fear was back, fear in the face of death, fear of dying for anything.

_Nobody will blame you if you don't go in there, Jim._

And yet, above it all, there was ever only one choice.

"You won't be making the climb." Jim's voice barely made it over the din of the ship. He stared straight ahead, testing his resolve.

"What—"

His resolve was sound. His fist hit Scotty square in the face, and the man fell backwards, out cold. Jim caught him, wincing, and maneuvered him to a chair. As a parting thought, he doubled back and hit a button for a seatbelt. No use risking more injuries than necessary.

Satisfied that Scotty was safe, Jim stumbled back to the door. It opened easily—too easily for something that would become his tomb—and he pushed ahead. The heat soaked through his skin instantly, but he plunged forward into its waiting arms.

* * *

Bones fought his way through the slough of panicked people, muttering darkly to himself as he fought to quell his own anxiety. Flying had never been his thing, and with _this_—no, a free-fall through space was not his idea of a good time.

"Excuse me, important patient to strap in," he said to nobody in particular as he maneuvered toward the room he'd put Jim into. With the rolling of the ship, the "bed seatbelts," as Jim so aptly put it, were increasingly necessary. The last thing Bones needed was an injured Captain rolling off of the bed.

He braced himself for Jim's protests as he stepped briskly through the automatic doors. "Alright, Jim, I want no pouting from you. Dammit, I don't care what you say, for your own safety—"

He stopped dead in his tracks, breath knocked clean out of him. A deep-set, intuitive terror took hold and began steadily growing.

The Captain was gone.

* * *

Jim came to his senses slowly, as if emerging from the crystalline darkness of underwater. At first he thought that he was still on his cot after being treated by Bones. _Everything's stable,_ he mused. _Spock must have fought Khan off._ A warm bubble of pride and contentment rose through him. _A few more minutes of sleep won't hurt anyone._

However, moments after that thought crossed his mind, the warm bubble burst, and with it came fire—fire that started in his chest and crept steadily up in magnitude through every cell of his body.

_No._

Perhaps the greatest effort of the day was in that split second of realization. No, sleep was not an option. He felt the darkness dragging him back, cool and inviting and maybe the easier option after all, but he thrashed and struggled desperately to escape its clutches. _Can't die yet._ Finally he broke free, and he forced his eyes open.

The warp core burned with blinding intensity above him, and everything came back. Climbing up despite the stabbing pains in his chest and shaking arms. Stomping with all of the strength he possessed as the heart of his ship glowed feebly in response. Then an explosion of light, the sensation of falling.

Now, this.

The sudden, crushing revelation that he didn't have much time left. The blackness, already gripping him again, easing him down.

He pushed everything, all thought, away. He knew, without a doubt, that there was one more thing he had to do, because he wasn't just going to lie there and accept death so easily; one more act of defiance.

And so he began the agonizingly slow crawl back to the door, fingertip by fingertip, with the radiation and the acceptance of finality deliberately tearing his body to pieces.

* * *

"We're clear."

"Systems online."

"Thank _God_…"

Spock did not speak, listening with quiet passivity to his crewmates' expressions of relief. The ship was now stable, hovering above the clouds as it should. He watched the release of tension in those around him, saw the smiles cracking and the shoulders loosen. However, in his bubble of rumination, something did not sit right.

When his communicator beeped, some facet of his human half knew that it was not good news.

"Doctor McCoy to bridge."

"This is Spock. Is there a problem, Doctor?"

"Spock…it's Jim. He's…missing."

* * *

**Oops...another cliffhanger. *ducks to avoid objects thrown***

**So, here's where I ask your opinion on something. Right now, this story doesn't have a set ending. I could end it at the next chapter, with Jim's fate in the warp core. Or I could extend it another chapter to end as he wakes up in the hospital (as he does in the movie). OR I could extend it further than that, based on suggestions. What would you all like to see? I'm flexible.**

**Anyway, I hope this chapter was alright-the next one's going to hurt as well. Fair warning. As always, reviews grant you eternal gratitude.**

**Till next time,**

**-Penn**


	7. Chapter 7

**Congrats! You survived another cliffhanger! That was the worst of them, I promise. There's just something really satisfying about a good cliffhanger.**

**Here's the moment we've been waiting for. And...sorry to say, it's gonna be painful again. If it makes you feel any better, I share the pain. I wrote this chapter in one sitting; I locked myself in my room with chocolate and suffered through.**

**So...uh, enjoy?**

**All recognizable dialogue is from Star Trek XI and Into Darkness. Conversations are tweaked to fit alternate circumstances.**

* * *

The worst part, Jim thought disjointedly, was waiting for Scotty to wake. The moment his friend would regain his wits, look around, and see him lying there pathetically behind the glass. The moment the engineer would realize what had happened and the grief would enter his eyes.

Jim dreaded that moment, but at the same time, another, equally frightening option crept into his head: what if he died before Scotty woke? What if he faded before even having the chance to say goodbye? That possibility alone brought a surge of scrambled energy, a new will to survive.

The moment passed through a fog, and suddenly Scotty was there at the glass. Jim pulled his senses back, drawing them close from the string they were now floating away on. As he hauled back his hearing, he realized that Scotty was yelling frantically. Right, should have gotten that from the visual cues.

"Jim—have to—hold—get Spock."

Scotty disappeared in a streak of color to go to a communicator.

_Don't leave,_ Jim wanted to say. _I don't want to die alone._

Panic rushed up inside of him, threatened to choke him, and the terror edged his vision with black. His senses were escaping him again.

Then Scotty was back, crouched by the glass.

"Spock's on the way. Hold on, Jim. If there was ever a time to be stubborn…"

With every ounce of remaining strength, Jim dragged himself up slowly, slowly, so he was in a sitting position against the glass. He leaned his forehead against the blessed coolness, panting from the climb and the fire that now consumed him.

"That's it, Jim…just hold on…"

"Hurry," was all he could force out in response.

Scotty turned his head sharply, perhaps in response to a noise, and sprang to his feet. Jim watched him go and closed his eyes.

He was slipping.

* * *

Spock had heard it called nausea; until now, he'd never known the true meaning of the word. Now, frozen in place at the sight of his Captain limp against the glass, he felt it. He felt the roiling emotion in his stomach, spreading up and threatening to take over his very being. For a while he could only stand there, rooted by the paralyzing realization that he was going to lose the only person he called a friend.

"Open it," he ordered Scotty. Illogical. Why had he said that, when he knew that the chances were impossible?

He looked down at the diminished shape of his friend, still unable to comprehend the situation despite every fact and figure that shot through his mind. Shock, that was what it was. He'd never experienced anything like it before.

Finally he kneeled. Sluggishly, torturously, Jim reached to close the second set of doors and turned his eyes upward to meet Spock's gaze.

"How's th' ship?" Jim said. His voice was a few decibels too low, weak enough to suggest that he was barely holding on to consciousness. It was then that Spock fully grasped the situation, understood that Jim had known the consequences of his actions, had gone in willingly.

"You saved us," Spock said. He fought to control his emotions, but for the first time in his life, they slipped from his grasp. His voice shook more than cared to acknowledge.

_It's okay to be scared, Spock._

"You saved the ship," Spock continued.

"_There was a moment in there when I broke, where I became a…coward. I can't do this, Spock. How can I be Captain if I can't die for my ship?"_

Suddenly, seeping through the cracks of his emotions, a whispering memory from long ago, came a conversation he'd shared with Doctor McCoy.

_"Are you out of your Vulcan mind? Are you making a logical choice, sending Kirk away? Probably. But, the right one? You know, back home we have a saying: 'If you're gonna ride in the Kentucky Derby, you don't leave your prize stallion in the stable.'"_

_"A curious metaphor, Doctor, as a stallion must first be broken before it can reach its potential."_

Behind the glass, Jim seemed content with the response and, with a curious sort of numbness, Spock realized that his friend was finally giving up the fight. His duty filled, Jim was at last relaxing, giving in.

Spock had seen this before. He'd seen it in Christopher Pike's eyes moments before death. He'd felt that sense of incoming demise in the mind-meld, and he felt it now as phantom pain as he looked into Jim's eyes. He, sickeningly, understood.

"I'm scared, Spock."

Spock knew, immediately, that in that moment his friend had broken, had ceased to be the true Jim Kirk. The essence of Jim Kirk was trickling away now, his eyes dimming. He was broken, and never coming back.

No, not broken. Not this time. This was different.

"Help me not to be. How do you choose not to feel?"

How did he, indeed? "I do not know. Right now I am failing."

In fact, he'd been failing for quite a while. The fear that had surged up as he watched Jim beaten half to death on screen—it was unlike anything he'd encountered before. Now it was back afresh, if dulled slightly by the overwhelming sense of dread. Helplessness.

Voice low and hollow, the Vulcan spoke. "Fear is natural. Human, even. The will to move past the fear is what makes a person…remarkable."

Whether the statement registered with Jim's rapidly deteriorating consciousness, Spock would never be sure. Instead of responding, a wheezing cough wracked Jim's trembling form, culminating in a choked sob.

"I want you to know," he began, drawing in labored breaths, "why I couldn't let you die…why I went back for you…"

"Because you are my friend."

Then he did the only thing he could think to do, the only thing that seemed remotely logical in such a whirl of illogic occurrences. He pressed the Vulcan salute tenderly to the glass. Jim weakly raised his own hand to match, his whole arm quivering with the effort.

_Live long and prosper._

Then, after a few seconds, Jim coughed again—the sound was a ringing note of finality in Spock's stomach—and his hand slipped down the glass. The shared Vulcan salute ripped apart down the center.

The moment it broke, Spock knew it was over. And, slowly, before his eyes, the Jim Kirk that he knew crumbled to nothingness, and the gaze went blank.

* * *

**Dang, I am listening to the Into Darkness soundtrack as I write this, and the song for this scene just came up. All of the feels. I hope I did the scene justice.**

**As for the length of this fic, I think I've finally made a decision. In order to isolate the theme, I think I'm only going to give it two more chapters. The whole point of the story was to put Jim in a different situation on the Vengeance and to have him react/adjust to that, and I'm afraid that will be lost if I go much further.**

**HOWEVER.**

**I am in the works of planning a spin-off/stand alone piece using the template "Five times x did something and the one time..." The title is still a secret, but I got inspired by a scene in one of the next chapters and decided to run with it :] So have no fear!**

**As always, reviews are appreciated. You all make my day by reading.**

**Until next time,**

**-Penn**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hello! Glad to see you still here and reading-we're down to the two resolution chapters! There's still a little angst to be had (sorry, Jim, it's got to happen), now pulling in some Spock and Bones action.**

**There's a lot of medical stuff that happens here. I'm no doctor, just writing from general experiences I've seen/had/read about. With a little of my own invention thrown in, I suppose. So, sorry if the medical aspect is not quite right.**

**General warnings apply; just some light swearing (because Bones is here now).**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

"He's damn stubborn, that's a fact," Bones said, running a hand through his hair as he paced. "Surprised he even made it out of the warp core with the level of radiation poisoning and his broken ribs."

"You will be able to heal his injuries?" Spock asked.

Bones glanced over at the biobed, where Jim lay, motionless and pale. Newly revived, he still looked like death frozen over. Which, technically, he was.

"I'll do my best," the doctor said apprehensively. "He's got a lot of internal damage from those ribs, not helped by that stunt in the warp core. He's gonna be in a hell of a lot of pain if he wakes up anytime soon." He kept his gaze fixed on Jim a bit longer, then sat heavily in a chair, face buried in his hands. "Dammit."

Spock shifted uncomfortably, gaze flicking once over Jim's vitals before settling on Bones. "Doctor?"

Bones released a shaky sigh, collecting himself before raising his head. "It's been quite a night, hasn't it?" he asked. Spock noted clinically the shadows that were already forming under the doctor's eyes.

"Indeed," the Vulcan said, "it has."

* * *

_Another kick caught Spock in the legs, and he was thrown to his back. Before he could catch his breath, Khan pressed a knee to his chest and grasped him around the head. The wind shrieked around them; Khan moved closer as he spoke._

_"What was it like, Mr. Spock, to watch your Captain suffer?" Khan sneered as he increased pressure on Spock's temples. "What was it like, watching him snap? Watching him be slowly crushed by the weight of his own frailty while you stood by and could do nothing?"_

_Khan didn't know the full meaning of his own words; the wound was ripped afresh inside of Spock, more painful by far than the crackling force on his head. Khan didn't know, _couldn't_ know, the sight of too-thin glass and the angry radiation burns and the tears in ice-blue eyes._

_In a moment of pure, unadulterated rage, Spock pressed his fingers to Khan's face._

_He would show him._

_One by one he let the memories overtake him, and the pain consumed him. He felt it: everything that was supposed to be kept under lock and key, everything a Vulcan was supposed to disregard. He felt the shock of revelation. The anger, wanting to break that glass door with a single blow but knowing he couldn't. The absolute, total despair as Jim Kirk's hand fell and his eyes lost their glow._

_Khan's screams mirrored those that had been constantly reverberating through Spock's consciousness._

* * *

"Doctor McCoy?"

Bones lifted his head. He and Spock had been motionless in their seats for hours, not speaking; the too-slow beep of Jim's heart monitor had conveyed every word they might have exchanged.

"Miss Chapel," Bones said. His voice was rough from stress, disuse, grief—perhaps all three. He tried to focus on the nurse, but his vision was strangely blurry. "What is it?"

"It's Mr. Harrison—"

"Khan," both Spock and Bones said automatically.

Nurse Chapel paused momentarily, her focus innately pulled toward the seemingly-lifeless form of the Captain. She regained her composure impressively fast. "Yes. He is still heavily sedated, but we have treated him."

"Freeze him," Bones said.

The nurse blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I want that son of a bitch back in a cryotube now, got it?" Bones ran a hand over his mouth. "With all due respect, I don't give a damn about regulations or protocol right now. I want him in a sleep so deep he'll see the devil himself. We'll deal with him later."

Nurse Chapel hesitated again, shifting her weight uncomfortably. "Sir, would you at least like to make a final check? Oversee his injuries and the work that we've done?"

Bones' reply was quick. "What were his injuries?"

The nurse glanced down at her PADD. "Well, there were numerous bruises and minor lacerations across the board. In addition, we found signs of a possible concussion. The most prominent injuries were a fractured cheekbone, cracked jaw, and three severely cracked ribs."

Bones stared ahead, emotionless. "He'll be fine."

Another moment of silence, hesitation. Then, with a quick nod, Nurse Chapel exited.

After another stretch of nothing but the heart monitor, Bones looked up at Spock and raised an eyebrow.

"Hell hath no fury like a Vulcan scorned, eh?"

Spock remained impassive. "I am not familiar with the expression."

Bones simply snorted in response.

* * *

Two days later, Spock was roused from his meditation by the shrill scream of a machine.

He was instantly alert and on his feet. The machine beside Jim's bed was erratic, and Jim—Jim himself was seizing violently, sweat pouring from his face. Gripped with an unfamiliar terror, Spock scanned the room. Bones was absent, perhaps finally taking a moment to himself after two days of constant supervision. No doubt he would be back in seconds after hearing the alarms.

Still, Spock moved closer to Jim's bedside, full-scale alarm edging out his more precise thoughts. As much as he'd studied the theory of human biology, nothing had prepared him for this. As Jim thrashed once, Spock placed a hand on his blistered wrist, what he hoped would be a small gesture of comfort, at the very least.

Jim's eyes flew open.

They were bright, fevered, bloodshot: as they'd been in the radiation chamber, but worse. They held no comprehension of the world, just sheer panic.

"Jim," Spock tried, though he knew it would be no use. "Jim, you're—"

At that moment, the doors of the ward opened and Bones charged in, looking half-dead himself but with a fire behind his eyes. "Away!" he shouted at Spock, and his voice cracked dangerously. Spock moved aside to let the doctor work, driven to the sidelines as three more nurses barged into the room.

"Get me a hypo—knew this would happen, dammit, Jim—he's rejecting it—_get me that hypo_—"

Bones' commands became more and more shrill with the increasing screams of the machine. The nurses were quiet, only speaking when they needed to, while Bones would certainly be hoarse the next morning. Spock realized, then, that this was Bones' war. This was his line of command, his fight, and there was nothing that could stand in his way.

"Got to—Jesus, get him on his side, don't want him to choke—"

Spock studied a spot on the floor as the sounds of Jim expelling the contents of his stomach echoed through the din. The beeping of the machine was incessant, erratic.

_Please._

The word repeated itself in Spock's mind, a mantra, though he did not know who he was praying to. To Bones? To Jim? To an entity far beyond either of them?

And gradually, gradually, the machine slipped back to normal, the sound registering in the fringes of Spock's awareness.

"Spock?"

The Vulcan turned to Bones, who was now sweating profusely—though not as much as Jim—and wringing his hands on a towel.

"I asked if you were okay."

Spock swallowed, willing his face to be impassive. "That is a matter of perspective, Doctor."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow with a grunt. Running a hand through his disheveled hair, he watched as the last nurse exited. Then he nodded at the now-motionless Captain. "He just _had _to wait to do that until the one time I'm gone, didn't he?" He attempted a low chuckle, but his face was lined and worn, and the sound came out weak. "Wasn't gonna let him go on us that easy."

"I do not take your meaning," Spock said.

Bones gave him a long look, studying him. "He's not out of the woods yet," he said finally. "As expected, he's not taking to the transfusion too well. That, and his body's still trying to expel the radiation…" He looked back at Jim, who was now even paler than before and glistening with sweat. "We've upped his drugs. Best to keep him under for a good long while, to avoid this kind of thing." He moved to the bed and adjusted Jim's blankets fondly. "I don't think my old heart could take any more."

Spock kept his eyes on Jim as Bones finished cleaning up. There was a part of him, a growing part, that wondered what a mind-meld with the Captain would bring. The curiosity was hard to ignore. What did one think about, or dream about, in a state like this? What was going on behind those bloodshot eyes?

The answer, he finally realized, was not one he would like to discover.

"Well, it seems like he's fairly stable for the moment," Bones said. He looked aged. "I left all of my things back there when the alarm went off—plus a bowl of soup that's probably damn cold by now. First thing I've tried to eat since…and look what happened." He shook his head. "I'll only be a few minutes. Stay awake and make sure nothing goes haywire, alright?"

"I am sure I can manage," Spock said wryly, with a tip of the head.

Bones nodded, a sigh shuddering through his frame, then exited the room.

No, Spock decided, he would not sleep again.

* * *

**As always, thank you SO much for the continuous support. The last chapter will be up this Sunday! I'm just finishing it up (these chapters have been a lot more difficult because I find it harder to write Spock/Bones), but I'm still open to what you guys want to see in it! Jim will still be asleep, and there's going to be some more Spock/Bones, but there's one section I still need to write. I'm thinking Scotty should come? Or perhaps something else?**

**Whatever happens, thanks for all of the feedback. I have loved writing it and I can't wait to start the new project.**

**Till next time,**

**-Penn**


	9. Chapter 9

**Hello, lovelies, and welcome to the final chapter of The Moment It Breaks! It's been a wonderful, fun, emotional ride (for me, at least!), and I'm glad to have had the opportunity to share and talk with all of you!**

**For this chapter I took some elements from an episode of TOS, The Devil in the Dark, in which Spock mind-melds with a creature and is emotionally charged to a startling extent.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

_"Mr. Scott? What is it?"_

_ "Mr. Spock instructed me to inform you…"_

_ "Inform me of what?"_

_ "Jim…"_

_ Bones refused to believe it. He ran._

_ Sure enough, there he was. A body slumped awkwardly against the glass. Cold eyes staring at nothing._

_ Surely Spock had been more controlled; but Bones, regrettably, was only human. He pounded on the glass with all of his strength, bellowed profanities at Scotty and Chekov and whoever would listen and commanded them to _open the door_, because certainly there was still a chance of saving James T. Kirk._

_ The worst part was, they didn't even try and stop him. They watched, they cried. The door did not budge. Where was his friend to hold him back, to make a wise-ass comment and tell him to stop worrying?_

_ Bones sank to his knees, and all at once there was awful, stagnant silence. There was still one minute before the doors could open and nothing that could be done before then._

_ Bones wished he could close his friend's eyes. There was nothing more to see, anyway. _

_ And finally, when the doors did open and Jim Kirk's body collapsed into the arms of the doctor with the body bag, Bones couldn't watch. The Captain looked so small, and Bones knew that if he looked at that now-placid face, the weight of _knowing _that he couldn't simply shake his friend awake would be too much._

_ He walked away from the warp core feeling more weary and more numb than ever before._

* * *

Bones started, blinking away the stinging heaviness of sleep deprivation as he brought his surroundings back into focus.

"It would appear you are unable to sleep."

Bones swiveled his head in the direction of the Vulcan, putting on his best snarky face. "Yeah? What would give you that idea, smart-ass?"

"By my observation, you have briefly lost consciousness four times in the past thirty minutes," Spock began, "and yet each time you wake as if startled."

"Thanks for that break-down, Sherlock," Bones said, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's hard falling asleep in a sitting position." Yeah, and the nightmares didn't help either.

"Perhaps you should retire to your quarters for the night."

The suggestion was, admittedly, appealing, but there was still a nagging part of Bones that didn't want to give up. If his best friend was lying there fighting, Bones was going to fight right alongside of him. Cracking his neck, Bones stood and glanced at the time. 0426. He sighed. "Fuck it, it's already morning. Just…let me shower. Spend too much time around sick people and you start smelling like one."

Luckily, he'd been granted an adjoining room to Jim's, typically reserved for visiting family members as a place to stay close to patients in critical condition. As Jim's now full-time doctor, Bones was grateful for the space. Sleeping, while still undesirable, was becoming increasingly necessary, and Bones at least felt a bit at ease being so close in case of another emergency.

Bones eased out of his standard-issue white medical uniform, his back aching. Seven days of fighting. Seven days of emergency treatments, surgery, paperwork, and waiting. Always the waiting. Waiting for Jim to show any signs of life. Waiting for the indication that the Captain was at least making an effort to return to the living.

For seven days, Jim's body had been failing. It was a constant battle to keep him alive, even with Khan's miracle blood. The truth of the matter was, Bones had come to realize, that the battle was no longer in the hands of the doctors.

All he could hope was that Jim would fight. Bones would keep waiting.

Waiting.

Yes, a shower would do nicely.

* * *

It was fortunate that Vulcans could go so long without sleep, for surely seven days without rest—save the small pocket of unfortunately-timed meditation—would have destroyed a lesser being. It was a small mercy that Spock could still function under the circumstances, as his days had been rather tightly occupied. Paperwork, meetings, dealings concerning the Enterprise and her crew; and, of course, the hours spent in hard silence in Jim Kirk's hospital room, usually through the darkest hours of the night when Bones would retire to his bed.

Spock stared at Jim's pale face and wondered incessantly how one could sleep so much.

The steady sound of Bones' shower barely registered over the light hum of the medical equipment, but it was strangely soothing in the space. More than anything, it was comforting to hear evidence of any life in the room.

Still, Jim's lifelessness struck something in Spock. It was the way his condition had hardly changed in the span of days. It was his lack of response to the world. It was Bones' increased frustration, the sense of uselessness the doctor exuded every time he paced through the room.

Always, _always_ the curiosity grew. It took root somewhere between despair and hope within the confines of Spock's emotion and began to sprout.

Finally, tranquil, he stood.

Jim's vitals were steady. Good. No use risking another episode now. Spock wasn't sure Bones would forgive him an interrupted shower.

He'd only done this a few times before, but it came naturally. As if on instinct, Spock's found the pulse points on Jim's face and pressed his fingers lightly to the fevered skin.

The mind-meld was slow in coming, like diving deep into a lake and watching the surrounding world grow darker and darker.

Then, as he reached the darkest point and he felt himself relax completely, it all hit him at once.

_Fire_.

Every inch of his skin and everything underneath was burning with such intensity that Spock nearly tore away from the mind-meld that instant. Though the world was dark, every sensory detail was alight.

And so weak. Muscles refused to budge. In a rush of understanding, Spock knew suddenly what it meant to be trapped in one's own body.

Despite everything, he pushed further.

_Fire. Doubt. Khan._

Everything was a rush of jumbled sounds and images and feelings and memories. Echoes.

Pain. _I'm scared Spock. Scared of dying. This is what I wanted. The glass isn't that thick….please, Spock._

But then, fighting against the noise: _Let go. Let go. Let me go. It's over and I died. I can't go back. Scared to go back. I'm not a Captain now. I dare you to do better. I dare you to do better._

_ Fire._

Spock fought through the haze and the pain, and he _understood._

Bones found him there a few minutes later, crouched in a tight ball on the floor and trembling with dry sobs.

"Good God," Bones said, though his tone was lacking the usual levels of biting condescendingness. "What happened?"

"I attempted a mind-meld with the Captain," Spock said through his hands, steadying his voice. "I was able to feel…" His sentence trailed off and he swallowed, visibly leveling himself out. There was silence as he collected himself, blinked a few times, and stood. Bones poured a glass of water and offered it awkwardly to the Vulcan, but Spock refused.

"In addition to the physical, I was allowed access to some of Jim's emotional processes," Spock continued, infinitely more steady now but still dangerously quiet. "It seems that, on a subconscious level, he is…indeed, giving up."

Bones swallowed thickly. "What does that mean?"

"Be believes his duties as Captain are filled," Spock went on, "because he feels he is no longer adequate for the position."

Bones burst, turning angrily on a still-unconscious Jim. "Well of course you are, dammit! You think just anyone could—"

"The events leading up to his death were emotionally…revealing, to Jim." Spock glanced sideways at the hospital bed. "He still believes that his fear was a failing on his part."

"He saved the entire crew," Bones said quietly.

"I am aware of the weight of his actions," Spock said. "But he is not. He does not believe his actions outweigh his emotions."

Bones stared at Jim for a long while, chewing his lip. Finally he looked back at Spock. "Well, there's only one way we can let him know that what he did was right, isn't there?"

It was Spock's turn to study the doctor, to see every shadow of uncertainty layered in his eyes. The Vulcan knew, and he understood.

Gently, tenderly, he pressed his fingers again to Jim's face.

Again, he dove into the darkness and felt it envelop him.

_The purpose_, he conveyed, _of the Kobiyashi Maru is to experience fear._

Through the blinding mist, he felt Jim stir.

_Fear in the face of certain death. To accept that fear, and maintain control of oneself and one's crew._

_This is a quality expected in every Starfleet captain._

Deep down, through the sickness and the aching and the shattered exterior, the Captain's mind found a foothold.

Spock resurfaced, blinking in the dim hospital light.

"He knows," he said simply, wearily. "He's coming back."

The Vulcan collapsed back into a chair, and, for the first time in seven days, Bones knew everything was going to be fine.

* * *

Seven days later, the pace of the heart monitor quickened almost imperceptibly, and a long sigh cut through the monotony.

"He's waking up," Bones said, and the emotions tumbled and cracked audibly through his voice.

Spock and the doctor waited.

Then, with stunning clarity, Jim Kirk's eyes opened.

* * *

**And that's a wrap! I just want to take a moment to acknowledge and thank all of you who have faithfully read/reviewed/favorited/followed this story. It means so much to me, and it absolutely blows me away to see how much exposure this piece has gotten. I mean, really, I never could have imagined approaching 100 reviews on a single story. I can't wrap my head around it, to be honest!**

**Now that it's over, I would love to hear impressions of the fic as a whole—it is how I know what works and what doesn't! If you read this story and liked any part of it, let me know! You all have given me such confidence with your kind words, and I cannot thank you enough for that.**

**As for future projects, there are two ideas in the works. One is the spin-off I referenced earlier. The title? Five Times Spock Attempted to Comfort Bones (and the One Time He Couldn't). The other project is also SUPER angsty (I guess I'm in that mood?), with either the title or description being "In the end, the tribble died."**

**I love you all, and I can't thank you enough for taking the time to read my work.**

**Till next time,**

**-Penn**


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